Reassure Me
by carnivorousButter
Summary: The first time Dave lets John see the depth of his insecurities is thankfully not his last. "Dave, baby, wake up! You're beautiful and amazing and I can't imagine my life without you!" Established relationship, one shot. Warnings inside.


A/N: This is an rp a random person and I did on MSPARP months ago. I am the rather suckish Dave. Apologies. TW: SUICIDE. Also over excess of fluff. ALSO I WILL BE UPDATING MY OTHER STORIES SOOOOOON. ::::::D

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HOMESTUCK NOR THE WORDS WRITTEN BY THIS RANDOM JOHN I MET

John huffed impatiently as he walked upstairs. His best bro Dave had been in the bathroom for a long while now- John suspected it was the extremely spicy burritos they ate for dinner an hour earlier. Damn, those things go through you fast! John knocked on the door lightly.

"Dave? Dude, you've been in the bathroom for like, half an hour."

There was no response and John frowned. "Listen man, I gotta take a crap." He went to open the door only to find it locked. A little worried, John pressed his ear to the door. Silence.

A sick feeling suddenly pooled in his stomach, cold and hideous, twisting up inside him like the tendrils of a venomous snake. "Dave, I'm going to go get a key if you don't open the door bro." he said, trying to 'keep it cool' as Dave would say. You could still hear the slight panic in his voice.

There was no reply.

John scurried downstairs, trying and failing to push that feeling out of him; that something was oh so wrong, that Dave was in trouble, his Dave, hurt and alone behind a locked door…

"Aha," he whispered, finding the master key Bro kept in the drawer in the kitchen. He ran back upstairs as if a tornado was propelling him forward. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely fit the damn key in the lock; several profanities spewed forth.

_Click._

With a sense of numbness, John slowly pushed the door open, scared of what he might find. What he saw made his insides turn to ice and he had to force himself to start breathing again. Dave was unconscious on the floor, pale as snow. His shades lay grasped loosely in one hand and his beautiful, amazing eyes (Dave never believed John when John said those crimson eyes were spectacular) were open wide and glazed over.

John's mind was screaming at him, _Move you idiot, he's lying there, dying or maybe dead, help him NOW, move, move, MOVE!_

"OH MY GOD." John was at Dave's side as soon as his body caught up with the rest of him. "Dave, baby, wake up!" he shook his boyfriend's shoulders, tears streaming down his face. Dave was cold, and so still. An orange, empty bottle rolled almost innocently out of his other hand, and John let loose a sob. He held Dave close to him as he flipped out his phone and dialed 911. When asked if the victim had a pulse, John almost smacked himself. He pressed two fingers against Dave's neck.

A heart-stopping moment of silence ensued from the operator, from himself, until there it was. The weak fluttering of the irregular pulse throbbed under his fingers and John could have wept with relief. The operator told him to stand by, that medical help was on the way. John hung up and cradled Dave's body close.

The blond groaned slightly and John froze. "D-dave?"

There was silence except for Dave's ragged breathing. "Oh honey, thank God." John whispered. Dave's head rolled limply to the side of John's shoulder, his eyes now shut. "Dave, if you can hear me I want you to breathe. Please. Don't d-die on me, okay?"

The breathing seemed to even out, but Dave did not wake up. John kissed the other's forehead as the sounds of wailing sirens grew steadily closer.

"Everything will be okay." He tried to convince himself.

TWO DAYS LATER.

Your name is Dave Strider and you are a complete and utter idiot. As your abnormally blond eyelashes flutter and you try to regain consciousness, voices are swimming in and out through your ears,

"Dave…. Wake up…. Can…. Open your eyes…."

You suddenly feel a warm and very familiar hand squeezing your freezing one. You manage to weakly squeeze back and whisper, without opening your eyes, "I'm…. sorry John…. I love you."

You feel soft lips kiss your hand. "I love you too, so much. But why? Why would you do this?" His broken voice almost makes you wish you could swallow a bunch more pills right then and there. You muster up the courage to open your eyes, dull red colliding with a dazzling blue.

"I…. I…. I was being so dumb. I'm so sorry bro. I love you John, I didn't want to hurt you." He squeezes your hand again, and you think you are quite glad for the warmth. Everything seems surreal and hazy with the medications swirling throughout your brain. You feel so slow, like you're trudging through syrup.

"What made you try to do this, Dave?" Oh God, how are you supposed to answer that? If you tell him he'll let go of your hand and give you a disgusted look. He'd walk out of this room, out of your life, and a life without John isn't a life. But he was giving you that sad, sad, searching look, and you can't find it in you to deny him.

"I couldn't deal with it anymore." Your voice sounds pathetically weak, even to you.

He gives you a confused look. "Couldn't deal with what?"

You took a deep breath. Relax Strider; just get it out of the way fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid. "At school…. I am harassed and treated like the scum someone has to scrape off the bottom of their shoe…. because of my demon eyes. They'd follow me home, shouting bad stuff and throwing some things at me. And then…. Then I couldn't see anything good about myself."

He looks heartbroken and you damned yourself like the bastards at school did for putting that look on his normally cheery face. "Aw, babe, why didn't you tell me?" he whispered.

You know your reasoning is stupid. "I didn't want you to hate me."

He seems affronted. "I could never hate you!"

You hang your head in shame, unable to bear his intense gaze any longer. God, you're such a pansy. "I know, but I hate myself…. so much."

"Listen." He leaned in and rested his forehead against yours, forcing your eyes to meet again. "There are so many good things about you."

"Like what?"

"You can make even the grumpiest guy smile."

"So?"

"You write the world's best raps."

"My raps suck."

"No, they don't!"

"You're kind, loving, funny, amazing in bed. But that's sort of an added bonus to dating you." He chuckled, and you blush a little.

"Yeah…you're great there, too."

"Listen, I wouldn't be able to live a day without you."

You feel like crying, but Striders don't cry. "Why do you love me? I am weak and pathetic and useless." Never before had you bared your insecurities like this to John, but he seems determined to make you think differently of yourself.

"Correction; you're strong, amazing, and can be very useful! You're my cuddle buddy, much better than any teddy bear. You make me feel safe, and you're always there for me."

"How? I'm all sharp and gangly and albino and I carry swords and hardly talk out loud."

"Well, that just makes you who you are, and I just so happen to like that."

You feel yourself beginning to tear up a little. John was so perfect and amazing. "I don't deserve you." You say.

His eyes are gentle. "No hun, I don't deserve you. You're too perfect for words."

Dammit, now you really are crying. "I'm so sorry John. I was so stupid!"

"Shh." He kisses your forehead. "Don't cry, it's over now."

You are inconsolable. "I love you s-so much, why did I…. why did I try to leave you?"

He looks so sad again. "I'm asking myself the same question."

You sniffle. "I will never be so stupid again. I swear to God I won't." you vow.

John looks pained when he says, "I know you won't because I'll be locking stuff up."

"I'm sorry?"

"The pills, knives, razors. Everything."

You know he's only doing it because he cares, but what an inconvenience this will be! "Is that really necessary dude?"

His voice is firm. "Yes, it is."

"How will I shave, or cook?" You weren't exactly a great chef, but still.

"I'll do it."

You are slightly amused by this despite the situation- you, lying strapped to a hospital bed after a suicide attempt with tear streaks on your face, in a barely-covering-your-ass paper gown. "You, who have never sprouted a single follicle of hair on your face, are going to shave mine?"

John pouts and God you've missed how cute he looks when he does that. "Dave, I shave." Then he grinned, looking even more beautiful. "Oh cool, that rhymed."

You shake your head disapprovingly. "No, just stop right there. Leave the rhyming to- ow, ow, ow!" you hiss as you shift in your lumpy bed.

John chuckles again and it's like sweet music to your ears. "Hun, don't forget you have an IV."

"It stiiiiings," you are not whining, nope not at all. "I effing hate needles."

"I know, I know." Then he says "But we're working on discharging you," at the same time you say "John, when can we leave man?" he blinks.

"Dude, stop reading my mind."

"Sorry. But how long do I have to stay here?"

"Only for a little more," he promised. You let out a great gusty sigh.

"It's so boring, sitting here." Another pause. "Joooohn, entertain me!"

"Okay. Wanna hear a joke?"

You groan; his jokes are terrible. However you're dying of so much boredom you might actually put up with this. He rested his head on the bed but still holds your hand. "Oh God. Sure."

"Knock knock!"

"Who's there?"

"Orange!" Then he looked horrified. "Wait, crap, no. Pretend I never said that! Banana!" then he sighed because you're smirking like the ass you are. "Oh, I'm terrible."

You wish you could kiss him. "No, you're John."

He gently swats your hand and leans in to peck your lips, and you think that maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay. As soon as you are unstrapped from this stupid bed and give John a thorough snogging, that is.


End file.
